Chapter 9

The wind howled over Aldercrest's high towers, stirring the banners that bore the sigil of House Aldercrest—a thorned stag upon stone. Beneath it stood a man with more power than most kings knew what to do with.

But power always attracts vultures.

And now… they were circling.

Royal Poison in a Polite Envelope

The scroll arrived at dusk, bound in royal blue and waxed with the seal of Chancellor Varek Thorne—the King's dagger in parchment form.

Theo read it in silence at his study window. Outside, his estate flickered with lanternlight. Inside, his eyes narrowed.

"…Recent activity concerning financial distribution among noble peers and citizenry shall be subjected to immediate royal review. Any Guild issuance of public profit claims without crown oversight shall be considered seditious…"

Theo rolled the scroll closed, then lit it with a flick of his finger.

"Sedite this, you pompous slug."

The Church Arrives with a Smile and a Knife

Three days later, a procession of white robes arrived at the gate. Bells chimed. Choir boys sang.

But make no mistake—the Church wasn't here to bless.

Cardinal Luthen, his face carved from ivory and salt, stepped into the great hall like a lion entering another's den.

"You lift the people with coin," he said softly, "but forget that their souls belong to the gods."

Theo offered a cold smile.

"Let them tithe in both coin and prayer. I've never forbidden the latter."

"No," the cardinal agreed. "But you've replaced it."

The tension in the hall thickened. Theo met his gaze unflinching.

"Faith doesn't fear innovation. Only control does."

The cardinal's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"So be it. But don't be surprised when the heavens close their doors to you… and your Guild."

A New Threat Emerges: The Gilded Lily

News arrived like a thunderclap.

A rival Guild had bloomed in Brakenmoor overnight. The Gilded Lily. A name that dripped with elegance… and reeked of fraud.

Posters promised 30% returns. Investment parties. Shares tied to enchanted mines and phoenix-hair textiles.

Theo's eyes didn't even flinch.

"There are no phoenixes in Brakenmoor."

Lira slammed a forged ledger on the table.

"They're stealing your entire structure. Selling lies with your credibility."

"Then we don't just expose them," Theo said, voice dark as winter stone."We make an example."

The Raid of Brakenmoor

At dawn, Theo's newly-formed Auditorium of Guild Integrity stormed the Gilded Lily's chapterhouse.

No knock. No warning. Just parchment steel and law-sanctioned fury.

When they cracked open the vaults?

Empty.

No coin. No magic. Just faked records, forged noble seals, and a document claiming royal blessing… signed by a king long dead.

Theo arrived personally.

Standing amidst the ruined lies, he held the fake share certificates up before the townsfolk.

"This is what happens when greed is left unchecked."

Then, to the stunned crowd:

"We don't bury this.""We display it. Every village. Every corner of Aerthran.""Let the world know that fraud has a cost. And truth… has a sword."

The Crown Watches

From the capital, Chancellor Varek Thorne read the report.

The Gilded Lily had collapsed in a single day. Their founders? Missing. Their investors? Begging Theo to absorb their shares.

"The boy doesn't fight like a noble," Varek muttered. "He fights like a merchant with a crown."

Beside him, a masked woman from the King's spy corps whispered,

"Shall we cut his throat in silence?"

Varek shook his head.

"No. We offer the boy a seat at the table."

He stood.

"And when he reaches for the wine… we shatter the chair beneath him."

The invitation came bound in velvet and sealed with golden wax, the kind only fools thought was a mark of honor. It bore the sigil of the royal house—the crowned lion of Dravareth—and within, the elegant, slithering script of the royal chancellor.

"To His Grace, Theodric of Aldercrest,You are cordially summoned to the Royal Court of Valebourne, by command of His Majesty Albrecht III, King of the Realm, Defender of the Crown, and Protector of the Faith…"

Cordially summoned. There was no such thing.

Theo read it once, then again, then held the parchment above the candle on his desk until the flames licked it into ash.

So the Crown had decided to move.

They could not outlaw what he'd created—not yet. The Guild of Thorns had already entwined itself through too many noble pockets, through too much land and too much profit. But the court could still summon, could still test the water with poison before drawing a blade.

He stood that evening in the strategy chamber, eyes sharp as drawn steel, the inner circle gathered around him.

"The capital is no longer a place of civility," he said. "It is a place where kings bleed in silence and queens disappear behind curtains. I will not walk in there unarmed—not in blade, nor in secrets."

He paused. "We need someone. A shadow that walks behind me. Loyal. Skilled. And unknown to the snakes who dwell in Valebourne."

Elric leaned over the table. "I know of a place," he murmured. "Not a man, but a land. Deadwood Marches. The old dragon country."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Dragons? I thought they were extinct."

"Perhaps," Elric said, "but even the ashes of monsters remember how to burn."

They rode out at dawn.

The Deadwood Marches greeted them with silence. Not the kind that comes with peace—but the kind that follows ruin. Trees here were petrified black, like statues carved from charcoal. Ash blew across the road like mist. Cracked bones poked from under bramble and shale. The earth whispered of firestorms long gone, of scales that once tore through the sky and talons that reshaped the world.

They found the ruin by accident—an old temple, sunken into the slope of a hill, covered in volcanic stone and etched with symbols Theo didn't recognize.

It wasn't guarded. That made it worse.

Inside, deep beneath the rubble, behind a shattered altar to a forgotten fire god… they found it.

A single egg.

Large as a man's torso. Midnight black, webbed with golden veins that pulsed faintly—like breath. It sat in a bed of warm stone and faded runes, untouched by rot, immune to time.

No one spoke for a long time.

It was Lira who broke the silence first. "We… we have to report this. To the King. To the mages."

"No," Theo said immediately. His voice was low, certain, filled with something heavy and ancient. "This isn't a relic. It's a warning."

He stepped toward it, ignoring the heat. He placed a hand on the egg and hissed when warmth met his skin—not burning, not scalding, but alive.

"I don't know why it's here. I don't know if it will hatch," he said softly. "But I know this much…"

He turned to his companions, eyes lit with quiet fire.

"If the nobles want to bleed me dry… if the Crown dares to bind me in velvet chains… then I'll burn their kingdom to cinders and build something cleaner from the ash."

That night, by the fire, Theo sat alone beside the egg. He didn't speak to it as one speaks to a beast, nor as a god to a relic. He spoke like a man speaks to a sword—waiting to be drawn.

"I never asked for a throne," he whispered. "But I'll carve one if I must."

The egg pulsed once.

They returned to Aldercrest in silence. The egg was sealed beneath the ancient crypts—layered with glyphs and old protections, entrusted only to those Theo trusted with his very life. It was too dangerous to parade. Too powerful to ignore.

He left no announcement. Not yet.

This was insurance, not spectacle.

And so the summons was accepted. The carriages prepared. Theo packed no royal robes, no gemstones, no gold chains. He dressed in tailored black and grey, high collar, silver thorn at his chest. His carriage bore no crest. His guards wore no banner.

But his gaze?

It carried the weight of a man who had walked through fire… and come back with something sleeping in his shadow.

The gates of Aldercrest opened, and the Duke rode out—toward the lion's den.

Toward Valebourne.

Behind him, far below in the crypts of the manor, sealed in stone and runes, the dragon egg pulsed again.

A single crack bloomed across its surface.

The fire beneath the thorn was waking.